No brain has ever yet devised a
logical scheme for international arbitration."
"Human nature, I am afraid, has changed extraordinarily little
since the days of the Philistines," the Bishop confessed.
Julian turned to his companion.
"Well, they've all settled it amongst themselves, haven't they?"
he murmured. "Here you may sit and listen to what may be called
the modern voice."
"Yet there is one thing wanting," she whispered. "What do you
suppose, if he were here at this moment, Paul Fiske would say? Do
you think that he would be content to listen to these brazen
voices and accept their verdict?"
"Without irreverence," Julian answered, "or comparison, would
Jesus Christ?"
"With the same proviso," she retorted, "I might reply that Jesus
Christ, from all we know of him, might reign wonderfully in the
Kingdom of Heaven, but he certainly wouldn't be able to keep
together a Cabinet in Downing Street! Still, I am beginning to
believe in your sincerity. Do you think that Paul Fiske is
sincere?"
"I believe," Julian replied, "that he sees the truth and struggles
to express it."
The women were leaving the table. She leaned towards him.
"Please do not be long," she whispered. "You must admit that I
have been an admirable dinner companion. I have talked to you all
the time on your own subject. You must come and talk to me
presently about art."
Julian, with his hand on the back of his chair, watched the women
pass out of the soft halo of the electric lights into the gloomier
shadows of the high, vaulted room, Catherine a little slimmer than
most of the others, and with a strange grace of slow movement
which must have come to her from some Russian ancestor.
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